by John Hansen
Elita felt shaky without the King in the room with her. She struggled to pull herself up into a sitting position, resting heavily on the headboard she wiped a slight sheen of sweat from her brow before turning to look at the other man named Siaryl.
He looked a lot like the King, he had the same shade of blond hair, but his was longer, it was knotted into a braid that fell over one shoulder. The same angular face, yet it was slightly less pronounced, and the same pale blue eyes. He was much like a younger version of the King.
“Your name is Siaryl, sir?” she asked.
He bowed to her, “Yes, my lady, I am here to take care of you until my King returns. Anything you need, I’ll get it for you.”
She looked down at her tattered, and bloody clothes, she didn’t even want to know how her face and hair looked. Sheepishly she looked back at Siaryl, “Actually…sir, if it isn’t too much trouble, would I be able to have a change of clothes, and maybe a bath? If not, that’s fine, I can deal without one.”
He looked up at her with a small smile, “I’ll send for a maiden to come and give you a bath, and we’ll have our seamstress make something for you.”
She shook her head, she shouldn’t ask for someone to make her clothing. “No, no, that’s alright, I don’t want anyone to go to any trouble for me. I’ll just wear these.”
“But my lady, there is no trouble in this at all. We’ve been awaiting your return for so long, especially the King, we’re more than happy to attend to you. I’ll go and fetch a maiden for you.”
Before Elita could ask what he meant Siaryl walked briskly out of the room. Sighing, she leaned back against the headboard and looked around the room she was in. She gripped the silk sheets of the bed she was placed on. The headboard and frame were made of a dark cherry wood; the mattress was soft, allowing her to sink in slightly. It cradled her body with the smooth material that was the color of pearls. The whole thing seemed too modern for her surroundings, an underground labyrinth with halls made of earth and ice, and carpets made of grass, leaves and flowers. Torches of fire, and seemingly homemade candles on wooden platforms lighted the rooms. The doors were constructed of wood of a dark red, almost black color, like old blood. They glistened softly under the light of the fire that always seemed to be flickering nearby.
She heard a soft knock on the door, “Come in,” she told them. Elita watched as the door creaked open so show two beautiful girls walk in carrying a large basin. They looked like opposites in a way, one had white blond hair much like her own, and the other had matte black hair. Though they both had the same pale skin, and piercing blue eyes. They smiled at her in unison before setting down the basin near the bed and bowing to her.
The one with the blond hair spoke first, “Hello my lady, we have been informed you would fancy a bath?”
“I do, but if it’s too much trouble, I don’t mind not having one.”
The raven-haired girl looked at her in confusion, “Why would this be too much trouble, my lady?”
Elita gave her a look, “Do you usually bathe other girls? Is this normal for you?”
She smiled at Elita, transforming her inhumanly beautiful face to that of an angel. “Not usually, but we’ve been waiting for you for so long, so it’s no trouble, my lady, truly.”
She gazed at the girl for a few more seconds, studying her face. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”
The dark haired girl opened her mouth but was cut off by the blond, “No more chit chat, we must draw her bath.”
“But I-”
She held up her hand, “My lady, please, once we get you in the water I promise we’ll answer all the questions we are allowed to.”
It took the maidens a full twenty minutes to coax Elita into the basin. The moment she sat down in the water she assaulted them with questions.
“First, may I know your names?”
“I am Bryony and my sister, the blond, is Bryna.”
“You have very beautiful names,” Elita mused.
“Thank you, my lady,” they said in unison.
“Okay, next, why is it that everyone is calling me ‘lady’? And what do you mean that you’ve been waiting for me?”
A short pause followed her question. Elita looked back and saw they were staring at each other. “What’s wrong?”
Bryna looked at her, “Well, it’s just that, my lady, there are some questions we aren’t allowed to answer. We’re not sure if we’re supposed to tell you the answer to those.”
“Why?”
Bryony sighed, “The King, my la-” she stopped when Elita gave her a pointed stare, “Elita, he wishes for you to remember on your own. He gave us all specific orders to not give anything away.”
“No offense, but how would he know if you told me, if I said that I remembered on my own?”
The sisters exchanged dubious stares, their full lips curving into secret smiles. “If anyone asks, you didn’t hear it from us,” they explained together.
Elita smiled gratefully, leaning back against the warm metal.
“Do you like myths and legends, Elita?” Bryna asked.
“Yeah, actually, I’m getting my college degree in Mythology, a useless degree, but it’s what I enjoy.”
“What do you know about the Fair Folk?”
“Fair Folk? Oh, you mean faeries. Well, sadly, not much. I know they aren’t like Tinker Bell, that’s for sure. There are two Courts, right? The Seemie…Searie?”
Bryony laughed, “Seelie, and Unseelie,” she provided.
“Yes! That’s it. The Seelie is the light and the Unseelie is the dark. The Seelie Court is known mainly as the Summer Court, ruled by fae of light, and summer, while the Unseelie is the Winter court, ruled by fae of darkness, winter and ice, correct?”
“Very good. Now have you ever heard of a changeling?”
Elita closed her eyes, thinking back as the girl washed her gently, removing the dried blood and dirt, careful not to touch any of her wounds. “Um, isn’t that when a human child is switched with a faery child?”
Bryna clapped, “Yes! See, Bryony, we barely have to tell her anything.”
“Very true, Bryna. Now Elita, about 40 years ago was the last time the fae had used a changeling, and not just any changeling. This faerie was a rare one; she was born with a mother of the light Court and a father of the dark Court. She was coveted and desired by both side, a war broke out over who would get this child. Until one night they decided to spirit her away from the Courts, and switch her with a human child. It was decided that the first child she would bear would go to the fathers Court, and her second would go to the mothers Court when they turn 22.”
A cold shiver ran down Elita’s spine when she heard that age. I turned 22 last night. Bryony’s words were drowned out by the rushing blood that pounded in her ears. It can’t be me, she told herself, there’s no way. It’s just a story, a myth. Nothing to be scared of. Something seemed to be pricking at the back of her mind, a memory of something long forgotten. Bits of images flashed in front of her eyes of her mother, with hair the color of moonlight, eyes warm and brown as cinnamon. Another image of her mother crying, clutching her father tightly, whispering to him she couldn’t say good-bye to someone yet. It was too soon.
“Elita?” a voice snapped her out of her reverie. Shaking her head, she swung her head to meet the concerned eyes of Bryna.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“You looked as if you were a million miles away just then, are you remembering something?”
“I think I am, but I’m not sure. I saw my mother, she was crying, telling my dad that is was too soon to say goodbye. But goodbye to who? Why goodbye? Why too soon?”
“Elita, tell me, have you noticed something about most of the people you’ve seen here?”
Elita scrunched her brows together, confusion rolling through her. “What do you mean?”
“Have you noticed any similarities? At all.”
“Now that you mention it,” she began, thinking back,
“almost everyone I’ve met has that pale blond hair, like mine, or just a few shades darker. And those blue eyes. Those piercing blue eyes.”
Bryna smiled, “That’s right,” she grabbed at her hair, holding it up, “this hair color is a dominant trait for our people, along with the eyes. They will show up, no matter how diluted our bloodline is.”
“Wait, wait, wait. What do you mean, ‘our people’?” Elita turned around in the bathtub, so she didn’t have her back to them anymore. She hugged he knees to her chest, trying to get as far from them as she can. “Who are you two? Really?”
“Elita…you’re…we are…Elita, your mom was the changeling. You’re half fae.” Bryony told her.
Elita stared at Bryony for a few minutes, her mouth working, trying to form words but was unable to. Her mind raced, picking and pulling through her memories, trying to find any evidence that what Bryony told her was wrong. But every memory she called on seemed to fade and become fuzzy, always coming back to her mother telling her father that she can’t say goodbye, but now she can hear the exact words she spoke.
“David, I can’t let her go, I just can’t,” her mother sobbed into his shoulder. “I can’t let Elita go.”
Her dad hugged her mom tightly, “I’m sorry Maeve, and I wish we didn’t have to. But you know what Nickolai would do if we didn’t give him Elita. He would kill us all.” He set his hand on her swollen belly, “I know you’ll have to give Madison away too one day, but we’ll have our son, who is growing inside of you now. We’ll never have to give him away. Ever. I know it’s never going to take away the pain of having to let our 2 daughters go, but just remember we’ll always have him.” He bent down and kissed her stomach, “I can only hope it’s enough to keep the guilt away.”
Elita let out a gasp, and clutched at her naked chest. She set her head down on her knees, taking deep, shuddering breaths. “No,” she cried, “NO. This can’t be!”
“Elita, I’m so sorry. This is why we didn’t want to tell you. The King is going to be furious with us for making you sad. He’s the only one who can take away your pain.”
She looked up at Bryna sharply, “What do you mean by that?” she snapped.
Bryna took a step back, her eyes looking sad and hurt. “I-I just mean that, he loves you. He’s been waiting for you for 50 years, to fill the void he’s felt all these years. You complete him, and he completes you.”
Elita’s anger died as quickly as it ignited. Somehow, in some part of her soul she knew that Bryna was speaking the truth. When she thought it him it felt as if her shattered soul seemed to repair itself, her blood pumped stronger, she felt…whole.
“I’m sor-” she was cut off by a knock on the door. Sighing she yelled for them to come in.
“Oh! My lady, I’m so sorry!” she heard Siaryl’s voice say. “I didn’t know you were still bathing. I will come back later.”
“No, no, it’s quite alright. Come on in, you can’t see anything.”
The sister let out a nervous giggle at her bold remark. She smiled at them and turned her head to glance at Siaryl. “What can I do you for?”
He stared at her for a few moments, his eyes confused. Elita could almost hear the gears in his working, trying to figure out what her question meant. So he just held up a bundle of fabric and pointed to it with his free hand.
“Oh! My clothes. Bryna, would you mind getting that for me and showing Siaryl out?”
“As you wish, El-my lady,” she corrected herself as she remembered that Siaryl was still in the room. Elita watched as she took the dress from him and walked him to the door.
“Bryony, could you help me up?”
Bryony gave a shy smile and grasped her outstretched hands, pulling her up gently and guiding her out of the basin. “I hope you’ll forgive us, my lady, for our behavior. We should never have told you, it wasn’t our place.”
Elita held up her hand, “Nothing to apologize for. I asked you to tell me, I’ll take full responsibility for when the King comes back to my room for my knowledge.”
“If I may be so bold, my lady, but you are taking this a lot better than the King thought you would.”
Elita let out a laugh and she began to walk towards the bed, “Trust me, I’m a wreck on the inside, but I remembered something about faeries.”
“What’s that?” Bryna asked.
“You are incapable of lying. So I know that all this is true, and that it is true that the King loves me. For some reason, that just seems enough for me tonight. I can’t make any promises of how I’m going to be tomorrow, or even the next day. But for this moment, I’m…well,” she looked at both of them and smiled, “I’m okay.”
Bryna smiled back, “Well, that makes me happy, my lady. I mean, Elita,” her smile broadened. “Now, shall we help you into the gown?”
Elita’s gaze went down to the dress. The skirt was made of layers of deep purple taffeta, the ends just grazing the grass floor. The bodice was a tightly fitting silk, with a deep neckline and draped sleeves. Stitched flowers decorated the entire dress, forming an unknown pattern. Amethyst jewels adorned the collar of the gown, glittered softly under the candlelight.
“Don’t you think this is a bit…fancy for me?” she stuttered out.
The sisters looked at each other, then back to her. “Fancy? Elita, you do know who you are, right?” When she gave them a blank stare, Bryna elaborated, “You’re the Queen of the Unseelie Court. There is nothing too fancy, or too good for you.”
Elita felt her jaw drop slightly, and a blush creep onto her cheeks. “Wow,” she whispered.
Bryony gave her a supportive smile, “It is a bit much to comprehend. When we dress you would you like us to leave you, so you can be alone?”
“Is the King back?”
She winked, “He’s just waiting for you.”
“Then yes, but send him in immediately.”
They both bowed, “Of course, my Queen.”
Elita was pacing her room, her hands tugging at the snug fabric of her gown. Her heart was pounding so hard against her chest she half expected it to tear through the skin and bone. Putting a hand on her chest, she stood in front of the floor length mirror and stared at her reflection, attempting to slow her breathing.
Her white blond hair was curling softly around her face and down her back, the same color as Nickolai’s, Siaryl’s and Bryna’s, the dominant hair color of her people. The fae. Elita waited for the break down to come, for her to crumble into a ball and cry, but even after fifteen minutes of staring at her reflection nothing came. How can I be handling this so well? I mean look at me!
Her face was flushed with excitement, her cheeks rosy, her toffee brown eyes sparkling. The dress fit to perfection, it hugged every curve, showing off her voluptuous figure. Elita had never seen herself look this beautiful before, she could hardly recognize herself. I’m…I look almost happy. What is wrong with me?
She ran her fingertips over her temple, where Nickolai kissed her. The skin still tingled from his touch. Elita jumped as she heard a knock at her door. Swinging away from the mirror she faced the door, her hands roughly smoothing down her dress and her hair. “C-come in!” she squeaked, her hands shaking.
The dark, cherry wood door opened slowly until it was open as wide as it could go. Nickolai stood before her, his blue eyes raking over her with a hungry gaze. Elita blushed, trying to pull up the neckline that exposed her ample bosom. Before she could even blink he was standing in front of her, his cold hands on her own, stopping her motion. “Don’t cover yourself up, my love, I want to see every inch of you,” his voice was sensual as he spoke.
Elita felt her breath hitch in her throat. A deep-seated desire burned hotly through her, warming her body.
She slowly dropped her hands, exposing her bust. Nickolai’s eyes roamed over her chest, lingering on the exposed skin. Licking his lips he dipped his head down and planted a kiss on her collarbone. Elita let her head fall back, a sigh escaping her throat.
His
lips explored her neck, tasting every inch of skin before traveling lower to her chest, where he left kisses on the tops of her breasts, sending shivers of pleasure down Elita’s spine. Pulling back he put a hand on the back of her head, pushing it up until they were nose to nose. His cool breath mingled with her own, raising goosebumps over her body.
“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for you, my Queen,” he whispered to her. “I almost thought you would never come to me, I don’t know wh-” Elita stopped his words by placing a finger on his lips.
“I don’t want to talk, not right now,” she told him her voice sad.
Nickolai’s brow furrowed, his eyes concerned, he pulled her finger away and asked, “What happened, Elita? Did someone hurt you?” When she shook her head, he let out a sort of growl, “Then what happened? Tell me who has made you sad, and I swear I will peel their skin off and make you a rug out of it.”
Horrified, Elita took a step back from him, “Would you honestly do that?” she asked, bile rising up in her throat.
“If someone hurt you, yes, I would,” he answered quickly, his tone deadly serious.
He’s from the dark Court, Elita, of course he would.
“I will never allow someone to hurt you,”
“What about the man that threw me into the wall? Did you do that to him?”
He shook his head, “No, his sentence has yet to be decided. Is that what you wish to happen to him, my Queen?”
“No!” she yelled, “No one deserves that!”
Nickolai looked confused by her words, “My Queen, he could’ve killed you. Attacking a member of our own…” he stopped in the middle of tirade, his jaw slack as he looked at her with wide eyes. “I mean, attacking another person is just wrong.”
Elita smiled wanly at him, “Nickolai, I know who I am.”
His eyes darkened in anger, “Who told you? I bet it was those damned twins. I’ll have their heads for this.”
“Nickolai!” Elita gaped at him, appalled. “Don’t you dare hurt them, Nickolai, or I swear to you I will walk out of here and never come back.”
